


The Red Angels

by Persiflage



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Aretha Franklin references, Bisexual Female Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, First Meetings, Music and Musicians - Freeform, POV Character of Color, Queen (Band) References, Shower Sex, Songwriting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-10 06:02:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18654400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persiflage/pseuds/Persiflage
Summary: Rock Band AU: Michael and Gabrielle Burnham are in a band together.





	The Red Angels

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nomisunrider](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nomisunrider/gifts), [Radiolaria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Radiolaria/gifts), [Acardio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acardio/gifts).



> I have no idea where the hell my Bitch Muse gets these ideas but she got this one and Would. Not. Give. Me. Peace! until it was written. I spent 12 hours writing the bulk of it yesterday, then finished it off this morning. Oof. 
> 
> Anyway, I present to you Michael Burnham on keyboard and backing vocals (and songwriter), Gabrielle Burnham on lead vocals and guitar, Katrina Cornwell their manager, and Philippa Georgiou, a bouncer at the venue for their next gig.

“Mom? We’re here.” Michael brings the van to a stop, then leans over to shake her mother’s arm. 

She sits up with a soft groan. “Oh Michael, you know I said I’d share the driving with you.”

“It’s okay, honestly,” Michael tells her. “I was composing.”

Gabrielle Burnham looks over at her daughter with a fond smile. “Anything good?”

“Too early to say for sure, but maybe?”

Her mom chuckles. “The last time you said that, you composed our smash hit song,” she says. “So I’m going to go ahead and assume it’s going to be fantastic.”

Michael laughs too. “Okay, mom.” She shakes her head, then pulls the key from the ignition. “You’re so cheesy.”

“And proud of it,” Gabrielle insists. 

They climb out of their van just as a sleek silver car pulls up alongside and their manager, Katrina Cornwell, climbs out.

“Someone looks happy,” she observes with a smile.

“Michael’s composed our newest hit song en route,” Gabrielle says with a grin.

Katrina’s eyes go wide, then she grins and steps forward to hug Michael. “Way to go, kid,” she says in delight.

“Okay, one – not a kid, and two – mom’s being premature.”

“Bet she’s not,” says Katrina immediately. She presses her lips to Michael’s forehead. “Your dad would be so proud.” She reaches out an arm to Gabrielle, and they share a brief hug, remembering Michael’s dad, Mike, who’d died a little over two years ago from cancer caused by inhaling second hand smoke at gigs in pubs when he and her mom had been first building their career, and the smoking ban hadn’t yet been brought in.

Before they pull apart a throat is cleared quietly behind them, and Michael looks over her mom’s shoulder to see an Asian woman in her forties standing behind them.

“The Red Angels?” she asks, with a hint of an accent that it takes Michael only a moment to place – Malaysian, she thinks, and is intrigued.

“Yes,” Michael says, pulling away from her mom and Katrina. “I’m Michael Burnham, that’s my mom, Gabrielle, and our manager, Katrina Cornwell.” She holds out a hand and the other woman takes it, her grip firm in Michael’s hand.

“Philippa Georgiou, bouncer.”

“Bouncer?” repeats Gabrielle as she shakes hands. Her lips quirk into a smirk, and Philippa’s eyes narrow.

“Are you familiar with Shakespeare?” she asks, and when Michael’s mom nods, quotes, “’Though she be but little, she is fierce.’ Want me to show you how fierce?”

Michael swallows down laughter at the look of chagrin on her mom’s face. “No, I believe you,” Gabrielle says firmly.

“Good.” Philippa nods, then shakes hands with Katrina. “We’re this way,” she says, and leads them around the building to the stage door.

“For a minute there I thought she was going to throw you over her shoulder,” Michael murmurs to her mother.

“For a minute there I did too,” Gabrielle agrees with a rueful expression. “I don’t think I made a very good first impression.”

“She’ll warm up to you,” Michael says. “Everyone does.”

Once inside, Philippa hands them over to Sarek, the theatre manager, and he in turn introduces them to Joann, the sound engineer, Keyla, the lighting director, and Tilly, his assistant, who immediately leads them backstage to their dressing rooms. 

“Wait, we get one each?” Michael asks, surprised.

Tilly looks equally surprised. “Of course. Unless you’d rather share?”

“One each is a nice change,” Gabrielle says firmly, and nods at Michael before heading into the ‘star’ dressing room.

Michael looks around the room that Tilly shows her into – it seems enormous, far too big for just one person. There’s a luxurious looking couch that’s big enough to seat three people, plus a couple of armchairs. There’s a dressing table and mirror, with a comfy looking chair in front of that, and she notices a number of make-up and hair products ranged on either side of the mirror. She sees that there’s a fridge and a microwave provided. In a corner a door opens onto a tiny bathroom with a shower cubicle and a toilet. There’s also an enormous wardrobe that immediately makes her think of Narnia, recalling some of the many books her parents used to read to her when she was small. 

“Everything all right?” Gabrielle asks from the doorway.

Michael nods, swallowing down the recollections that are threatening to overwhelm her.

“Let’s go and get set up, then.” 

Michael follows her mom back downstairs, and Tilly meets them at the foot of the stairs and leads them to the doors at the back of the stage where they can bring through their equipment. Gabrielle heads for their van, and Michael almost jumps out of her skin when Philippa seemingly materialises out of thin air at her side.

“Need a hand?”

“If you’re sure you won’t be needed anywhere else,” Michael says quickly.

“I’m sure.” Philippa’s smile is warm and friendly, and Michael tells herself that she’s imagining the interest in the older woman’s eyes.

“Thanks.” 

Michael soon discovers that Philippa’s stronger than one might assume from her small, slim stature, and she finds herself wondering what the other woman’s story might be. She repeatedly bites her bottom lip to stop herself from asking questions, having been told so many times that curiosity is her besetting sin.

“Hey, none of that,” Philippa says as they’re preparing to take the last of the stuff inside.

“Hmm?” Michael asks, looking up at her.

Philippa presses the pad of her thumb to the middle of Michael’s bottom lip, and she feels her lips part in surprise. “You’re biting your lip,” the other woman says softly. “And they’re such lovely lips.” 

Michael can’t seem to form a coherent sentence, but Philippa doesn’t seem to mind. She draws her thumb away, then leans in and presses her lips gently against Michael’s for only a few moments.

“You’re very sexy,” Philippa says in a low voice that gets to Michael, “and I would very much like to get to know you properly.”

Michael finds her voice at last. “I’d like that,” she murmurs, then briefly presses her lips to Philippa’s in return. 

The other woman hums in satisfaction, and her free hand skims Michael’s side over the black tank she’s wearing. It sends a frisson of excitement skating up her spine and she wishes, passionately, that she could tumble Philippa onto a bed somewhere and get lost in her.

She leans her head in close to Michael’s, “We should get inside before your mom comes looking for us,” she murmurs, her breath hot on Michael’s ear, eliciting a shudder of pleasure, which Michael sees Philippa clock with a pleased smile.

“In a moment,” Michael replies and tugs Philippa’s white button-down free of the back of her jeans before getting her hand on the other woman’s warm bare skin. She kisses Philippa more boldly this time, stroking the small of her back, and the older woman moans into her mouth, her back arching.

“Fuck!” gasps Philippa, and Michael smirks at the combination of surprise and arousal she sees in her eyes. “And you looked so butter-wouldn’t-melt when I first saw you.”

Michael can’t help giggling at that, burying her face in the crook of Philippa’s neck to stifle the sound. “Poor Philippa,” she says with a gasp. “Are you horrifically traumatised now?”

“No, very relieved, in fact.” 

Michael lifts her head and gives her an enquiring look. “Why relieved?”

“Because now I don’t have to worry about cradle-robbing, or that you’re a virgin.”

“Oi, less of the cradle-robbing,” Michael says, a little crossly. “I’ll have you know I’m 30 in a few weeks.”

“And I just turned 43,” Philippa says.

“Which isn’t that much of an age gap when we’re our ages,” Michael says. “Besides, I haven’t been a virgin since I was 15.”

“You little law-breaker!” Philippa sounds absurdly delighted by this news, Michael thinks. “Was it a good first time?”

“It was,” she agrees, wondering why Philippa cares.

“Good.”

Before Michael can ask about Philippa’s first time, Sarek, with Katrina at his back, appears in the doorway.

“There you are,” Kat says. “Your mom was beginning to wonder if you’d bailed on her.”

Michael sees the speculative look in the manager’s eyes, and deliberately makes her response to Kat as bland as possible. “Never gonna happen, Kat, you know that. Dad’s legacy is too important to me.”

“So I told her, but you know what Gabrielle’s like before a show.”

“I do indeed,” Michael agrees. She moves away from Philippa without a second glance, but she allows her fingers to brush against the other woman’s as they part. She supposes she should be grateful that she and Philippa weren’t actually mid-kiss when the others arrived – she has a suspicion that Sarek wouldn’t have approved.

MB-PG-MB-PG-MB

Three hours later, they are satisfied with how everything looks and sounds after Joann and Keyla have done the sound and lighting checks, and they’ve run through their two sets. By this point Michael’s feeling hungry and tired. 

Luckily Tilly appears with plates of sandwiches and bottles of soda, and Michael and her mom both accept gratefully when they’re invited to join the others for lunch in the green room. 

Michael’s tired after a 5am start and driving for four hours, plus the three-hour long rehearsal, so after lunch she tells her mom that she’s going to rest in her dressing room for a couple of hours.

“Of course, baby girl,” Gabrielle says, giving her a hug. “Kat and I are going to take a walk around the town. We’ll see you later.”

Michael smiles to herself. She’s been waiting for her mom and Kat to get together for ages, but she knows they’ve both been wary about rushing into a relationship after Mike Burnham died. She also knows that her dad would’ve approved as he liked Kat a lot, and he’d known from the outset that Gabrielle was bisexual – he’d only have cared that her mom was happy, and she’s fairly certain that Kat will make Gabrielle happy if they can only find the courage to admit their feelings for each other.

She settles herself on the huge couch in her dressing room, with her laptop balanced on her knees as she leans back against the arm. She wants to start working properly on the song she was composing while driving – if she can get the bare bones of it down now, it’ll be easier to pick up again later when she’s less tired and has more time to focus.

An hour later she’s struggling to stay awake, so she shuts down her laptop, puts it back in her bag, and stretches out on the couch with a couple of the cushions to support her head. She closes her eyes and within moments she’s dead to the world.

MB-PG-MB-PG-MB

Michael gasps awake from her nap to a hand grasping her ankles and she sits bolt upright and punches the shoulder of whoever's trying to assault her. 

“Michael,” calls a woman's voice with a hint of an accent, and laughter too, in it. 

She peers through the dim half light and recognises Philippa Georgiou, the roadie at the theatre where she and her mom are meant to be performing tonight. 

“Shit!” she exclaims, panicking at the thought that she might be late. Then asks, “Oh my God, Philippa, are you okay?”

The other woman chuckles. “Fine. You won't have raised so much as a bruise with a feeble blow like that. I came to tell you it's 45 minutes until you open. It took me three tries to wake you up.” 

“Ugh!” Michael says emphatically, which makes Philippa chuckle again. 

“I brought you a choice of coffee or tea as your mom thought you might have fallen asleep.” 

“Astute of her,” Michael says, then grimaces as she rubs at the stiffness in her neck. 

“Let me,” Philippa says, and in short order Michael finds herself sitting along the length of the couch while Philippa kneels behind her, giving her a glorious neck and shoulder massage as she drinks her tea.

“You have amazing hands,” she observes quietly. She can't pretend that she isn't thinking about how good Philippa's hands might feel elsewhere on her body. 

“So I've been told,” Philippa responds, practically purring the words.

Michael swallows the last of her tea. “I'd better get changed,” she mutters, and Philippa gives her shoulders a final squeeze, then kisses either side of her neck, left then right. 

“I look forward to seeing you take the audience by storm,” Philippa says with a grin as Michael reluctantly pulls herself away. “And I'll see you afterwards.” 

“Thanks,” she says gratefully. 

Philippa gives her a dazzling smile before slipping out, and Michael locks the dressing room door behind her as she considers which of the outfits she brought with her she wants to wear. 

She makes a decision and grins, hoping Philippa will approve, then she sets about stripping off her jeans and tank, before she pulls on the electric blue suit with a black Red Angels tee underneath the suit jacket. Red suspenders hold up her trousers. She slips her feet into her trademark black Red Angels boots – custom-made by a fan of the band. Then she applies a bit of makeup, before she unlocks her door and steps out just as her mom walks into the hallway from her own dressing room. Her mom gives her an approving look, then they both turn as Tilly comes bounding towards them. 

“Ready?” she asks brightly. 

“Ready,” replies Michael. 

“As we'll ever be,” agrees Gabrielle with a cheerful grin. 

Tilly leads the way downstairs and through the backstage area, and when Michael hears the noise of the audience she remembers she hadn't asked how many tickets they’d sold, but it's clear that there's a good audience out there. 

“We're sold out,” Gabrielle says, accurately guessing the direction of Michael's thoughts. 

“We are?” Michael asks, surprised. That hasn’t happened since she took over her dad's role in the band. Her parents regularly sold out much bigger venues than she and her mom have been playing in the nine months since they decided to reform the group. But even with the smaller venues, they’ve never sold out. 

“You've done it, baby girl,” her mom says, smiling proudly at her. “The Red Angels have become a success in their own right.” 

“Wow!” Michael hardly knows what to say, although it doesn't really matter as there's no time right now. 

They walk to their places, then Gabrielle nods at Tilly, and the curtains open to a roar – no a wall – of joyful noise.

Michael quails inside for a moment, then she swallows down the fear as her mom strikes her opening pose, Keyla’s lighting bathes her in red, and gives the impression that she has angelic wings behind her back. Gabrielle plays the first chord of their opening number, and Michael joins her, playing keyboards and providing backing vocals as her mom sings their cover of Aretha Franklin’s _Respect_. 

They follow up with a number of their most popular covers, then they take a break, and Michael is deeply grateful when Kat meets them in the wings with bottles of water and towels to deal with the sweat. Michael drinks half the bottle of water at a steady rate, knowing that if she drinks it too fast she’ll just be sick. Then she removes her jacket, and Kat takes it from her, before she drinks the other half of the water.

“They love you,” Kat tells her.

“Yeah.” She can’t help the big grin that’s broken out on her face.

Gabrielle’s grinning too. “Ready?” she asks.

“Hit it,” Michael answers, and Kat and Gabrielle both chuckle, before she and her mom head back on stage.

Their second set consists of songs that Michael’s written – some of which her parents used to sing, but three of which have been written since Mike Burnham’s death. They seem to go down as well as the covers in their first set, which is a relief to Michael. They close with _Red Angel_ – the song Michael wrote within hours of her dad dying.

It’s a slow song, and Michael considers it the best thing she’s ever written, although it’s so deeply personal that it was ages before she even showed it to her mom, let alone agreed to perform it. It’s also the only song she’s ever written for herself to sing, with Gabrielle as her backing singer, and the first few times they performed it felt very weird because she was the lead singer instead of her mom.

Their audience barely seems to be breathing, but Michael’s grown familiar, if not used to, the intense silence that this song always seems to evoke. But as she sings the final line, and plays the last notes, there’s a collective inhale, then a roar of sound as the audience reacts with cheers and whistles, then someone begins clapping and stamping their feet, and soon the entire theatre is filled with those sounds, and Michael finds herself fighting back tears. She looks at her mom, who is actually crying, and they nod at each other, then get themselves off stage. Kat’s waiting for them and she wraps them both in a hug, kisses Michael’s temple then, astonishingly yet delightfully, kisses Gabrielle full on the mouth.

Michael laughs tremulously, chokes on a sob, then eases herself away from them, well aware that she’s playing gooseberry. She turns away blindly as her tears spill over, and collides with a body. Hands grab her upper arms, and a warm, familiar voice asks, “Michael? Are you alright?”

“Fine,” she chokes, then leans towards Philippa, who pulls Michael’s body against hers, wrapping strong arms around her and letting her sob on her shoulder.

“It’s alright, sweetheart, I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” Philippa holds her tight, and Michael feels her lips along her hairline. “It’s okay, I’ve got you.” 

Eventually Michael manages to stop crying, and pulls back a little bit to look at the woman who’s been holding her so closely. “Thank you,” she says, then leans in and kisses Philippa full on the mouth. 

She kisses back, pulling Michael’s body flush against hers again, and Michael feels herself growing aroused. 

Someone coughs, pointedly, she thinks, behind them and she pulls back again to look up at the figure of the theatre manager, Sarek, who asks, “Are you going on again?” He twitches his head towards the stage and Michael realises the audience are chanting for more.

She turns and looks back at her mom, and finds she’s looking back and they smile, then nod, and Kat lets go of Gabrielle as Philippa releases Michael, and they turn and walk back onto the stage, to be greeted by screams and cheers.

Michael looks at her mom, one eyebrow raised, and Gabrielle grins, and begins to stomp one foot and clap her hands in time with the stomping, launching into their cover of Queen’s _We Will Rock You_. Michael stands behind her keyboard, a rhythmic drumbeat programmed in to match her mom’s stomping and clapping, and the audience joins in with the clapping and stomping as Michael begins to sing.

The response to their encore is even noisier than their audience’s response to _Red Angel_ , and Michael feels both exhilarated and exhausted by the time they walk off the stage a second time. Kat and Philippa are waiting with bottles of water and towels, and Michael and her mom accept both with gratitude. And hugs and kisses from their respective ladies, then they head upstairs to their dressing rooms to shower and change. 

Philippa lounges in one of the armchairs, talking to Michael through the half-open bathroom door as she starts to take a shower. 

She nearly jumps out of her skin when Philippa’s voice comes from much closer at hand, asking if she needs help washing her back. She half turns to look over her shoulder and sees the other woman grinning at her from the other side of the shower cubicle door.

“Well, if you’re offering,” Michael says, amused. 

“I am,” Philippa says, and loses no time in stripping off the tight black tee and equally tight (they look painted on) black jeans she’s wearing. 

Michael feels her breath hitch at the sight of the other woman’s body – lean and lithe, and utterly gorgeous. Then Philippa’s insinuated herself into the cubicle with her, and Michael moans as clever hands cup her breasts, teasing her nipples into taut peaks.

“Thought you were going to wash my back?” she says rather breathlessly.

“Mmm. I’ll do that in a minute,” Philippa murmurs against her ear before nipping lightly at her earlobe.

Michael moans rather too loudly, feeling herself growing slick with want as Philippa’s mouth works along her shoulder, then back before she busies herself giving Michael a hickey. And while her mouth is working, her hands are also busy fondling her breasts and tweaking her nipples until she finally – _finally_ – slides her right hand down Michael’s torso, over her belly and mound, to ease between her thighs. Michael widens her stance, and Philippa murmurs “Good girl” in her ear, then slips her middle finger into Michael’s sex. She moans even more loudly than before as Philippa teases her.

“Please Philippa,” she gasps, begs, pleads after several minutes. 

“Please what, sweetheart?” Philippa’s voice is a low purr in her ear.

“Please give me more.”

“I can’t resist a girl who begs.” Michael shudders as Philippa’s index finger slides in alongside her middle finger. “Do you want another one?” 

“Yes!” Michael hisses and arches her back, moaning in pleasure as her lover adds another finger, then she cries out in shock as Philippa’s thumb presses against her clit. Philippa continues to finger her through her orgasm, and Michael shudders and moans, hardly aware of anything except the powerful tide of pleasure that’s working through her body as she comes a second time, then a third, until she gasps, “No more, please.”

Philippa easers her fingers free, then soothingly massages Michael’s thighs, before helping her to turn around. 

“Oh God. Thank you,” she breathes against her lover’s shoulder.

“It was entirely my pleasure, my darling,” Philippa says. “Let me wash your back, and then we’ll get out of here.”

“Mm-hmm.” Michael is putty in her lover’s hands at this point. 

Philippa shuts off the shower, then helps her out of the cubicle and seats her on a stool, before beginning to towel her dry. Then she helps Michael to stand up and when she stumbles, her legs still feeling like jelly, Philippa simply picks her up in a fireman’s carry and takes her through into the main part of her dressing room, with Michael giggling helplessly. Her lover lowers her onto the couch, then stands looking at her, hands on hips, and smirking. 

“I suppose I’m going to have to get you dressed now,” she asks. 

“I think I can manage that, as long as I don’t have to stand up,” Michael says, a little embarrassed about how wrecked Philippa has left her.

The other woman shakes her head, then at Michael’s direction fetches from her bag her clean underwear, a navy blue tee, and some navy blue jeans for Michael to dress herself in. Then she goes back to the bathroom to grab a towel for herself, and her discarded clothing. When she returns, Michael’s lying on her back with her legs raised as she tries to pull on her jeans, and Philippa sits down in one of the chairs to giggle helplessly.

“You’re hopeless,” she says when she’s finally got her breath back. “Come here.” She stands up and moves down the couch to help Michael tug on her jeans. Then she bends down and kisses her. “I should think you want something to eat after that show, and me fucking you silly in the shower.”

“Oh yes please,” Michael moans.

“Alright. Give me a few minutes to go and grab you something. Anything in particular you want to eat?”

“Pizza, please. Something vegetarian.”

“Okay. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” She leans down for another kiss, and Michael smiles radiantly up at her, then slouches back onto the couch as her lover goes out. She wonders if she ought to go and knock on her mom’s door, but then immediately rejects the idea as she’d rather not discover that Gabrielle and Kat are having sex. She pulls a couple of the couch cushions under her head, then closes her eyes, and contemplates what she wants to do to and with Philippa in return for the three spectacular orgasms she experienced. 

Worn out by the emotional, as well as the physical, excesses of the day she unintentionally dozes off without locking the dressing room door. She can’t have been asleep for many minutes – and she’s not deeply asleep anyway – before an unknown male voice says roughly, “Wake up and talk to me, will you?” At the same time a large hand grasps her shoulder and shakes her excessively hard.

She startles as she takes in the man leaning over her, dark glasses hiding his eyes, and a hood pulled up over his head. Michael presses herself backwards, trying to put as much distance between herself, and her unknown and unwanted visitor.

“Who are you?” she demands, and is pleased when she discovers that at least her voice isn’t shaking.

“Gabe Lorca,” the man says, and Michael flinches at the name. She knows of him because he’s been stalking her for the last nine months – sending her ‘fan mail’ and unwanted gifts – and commenting at length, often obscenely, on her Instagram account. She’d reported him to the police, but unfortunately they hadn’t taken it seriously. She wonders if they will take it seriously if she winds up dead or injured at this man’s hands.

“What do you want?” Michael asks, feeling fear curdling in her gut. 

“To talk to you, of course,” Lorca says, like it should be perfectly obvious. “I figured I could take you out to dinner, to show you my appreciation for your work.”

“No thank you, Mr Lorca,” Michael says immediately. “I already have a date for tonight.” 

“Who is he?” demands Lorca, leaning over her menacingly. “If I find him, I’m gonna rip his dick off and make him eat it.”

Michael shrinks back even further against the couch, wishing that she could scream for help, but she has a feeling he’d be on her in a moment if she tried. Her mind is in turmoil as she tries vainly to process what’s happening, and then a miracle happens.

“Unfortunately for you, shit-for-brains, I don’t have a dick you can rip off,” says a very familiar voice behind Lorca.

He starts to turn around, but he’s way too slow. Philippa’s left leg comes up at what looks like an impossible angle and she kicks him upside the head. He staggers away from her, looking stunned, both literally and metaphorically, but she follows him, and throws a hard, fast punch, then another and another, sending him flying backwards to crash into the wall beside the dressing table. 

“Wha–” he wheezes, before she grabs hold of the front of his jacket and hauls him bodily from the floor, then throws him – as if he was a mere football – across the room and through the door she apparently left open when she came back with Michael’s pizza. Lorca crashes against the hall wall with a loud cry, and Philippa stalks after him. Michael gets herself off the couch, and grabs her phone, calling 999, and asking urgently for the police. 

She breathlessly tells the person on the other end of the line about the man who broke into her dressing room at the theatre and used threatening language towards her, and she’s told a car will be dispatched straight away. She thanks the woman, then hurries to the door just in time to see Philippa drag Lorca up from the floor for a second time.

“I am going to pulverise you,” Philippa tells him, in a quite pleasant tone which somehow sounds more terrifying than if she’d been screaming at Lorca.

“Philippa,” Michael calls urgently. “The police are on their way.”

“Doesn’t matter,” her lover says dismissively.

“Philippa!” The other woman throws Lorca the length of the hall, and Michael hears alarmed voices from her mom’s dressing room. Michael runs up to Philippa and grabs hold of her, pinning her arms against her body. “Don’t kill him, please,” she begs, a sob catching in her throat. “If you go to prison for hurting him, what will I do? I don’t want to lose you when I’ve only just found you.”

The other woman stops struggling against Michael and turns towards her. “Michael?” She lifts her hands to cup her face, then kisses her briefly. “You mean you want a relationship with me?”

“Of course I do,” Michael says, tears spilling from her eyes against her will. She kisses Philippa back, clinging to her, then she starts sobbing properly, and Philippa wraps her in her arms.

“It’s okay, sweetheart, I’ve got you,” she murmurs. “You’re safe now.”

Michael’s vaguely aware of voices in the hall – some she recognises, like her mom’s and Kat’s, but others she doesn’t. She doesn’t turn around, she just leans into Philippa, holding her tightly.

MB-PG-MB-PG-MB

Michael stretches luxuriously in her hotel bed, enjoying the warmth and comfort of the bedding. Philippa stirs beside her, then cracks open one eye. 

“What time is it?” she slurs.

“6am.”

“Oh for – Go back to sleep, Michael.”

Michael chuckles softly. “Are you not a morning person, Philippa?” she teases.

“It’s not morning, it’s the middle of the goddamn night,” her lover snarls, which makes Michael laugh an inordinate amount. Before she can offer a rebuttal, however, Philippa tugs her closer, then leans over and plasters her mouth to Michael’s. She shifts, pinning one of Michael’s legs to the bed as well, and Michael can’t help wrapping her arms around Philippa. 

“If I fuck you, will you go back to sleep?” her lover asks, and Michael huffs a laugh.

“You could try that,” she agrees.

“Good.” Philippa presses her sex against Michael’s thigh, then begins kissing her as she easily slides two fingers into Michael’s slick heat. She moans in pleasure and kisses Philippa back, pressing a hand to the other woman’s ass. After a moment, her lover begins to rock herself against Michael’s thigh, even as her fingers thrust rapidly in and out of her sex.

“Philippa,” Michael groans as she feels pleasure beginning to spiral rapidly through her body from her core. 

“Michael,” Philippa breathes her name against her ear, having abandoned their kisses for the moment. “Come for me, sweetheart.”

“Fuck!” Michael gasps, then her muscles tighten around Philippa’s fingers and her hips buck, her back arching off the bed at the same time. Her lover rubs her thumb over Michael’s clit, and her orgasm intensifies incredibly powerfully. She cries out as her vision whites out as she climaxes harder than she’s ever come before.

Moments later Philippa cries out too, and Michael tilts her head to reach her lover’s mouth and kisses her with careless abandon.

“While I’m not happy about what Lorca did,” Philippa muses a short time later. “I am grateful that you’re not leaving town just yet.”

“Same,” Michael agrees, and strokes a hand up and down Philippa’s spine.

“Go back to sleep, Michael,” she says.

“Okay, okay.” She closes her eyes, feeling very languorous, and Philippa shifts until she’s stretched out on her side.

The last thing she hears before sleep reclaims her is a murmured “I love you, Michael Burnham.”

“Love you more,” Michael manages, then sinks into the warmth of sleep.

MB-PG-MB-PG-MB

They’re both woken a few hours later by Michael’s phone beginning to play Queen’s _Don’t Stop Me Now_.

“What is that hideous racket?” Philippa groans.

“Mom’s calling me,” Michael answers, and grabs her phone to accept the call. “Hi Mom.”

She listens for a couple of minutes, then says, “Okay, I’ll be down shortly”, before hanging up. 

“I refuse to get out of this bed except in a dire emergency,” Philippa tells her, after pulling her head back out from under the pillows she’d tugged over her head.

“That’s fine,” Michael says, leaning over and kissing a warm, bare shoulder. “It’s not an emergency, but apparently there’s an indie record company executive downstairs, wanting to meet me and mom to discuss a record deal. Mom and I are going to have breakfast with her. But you don’t have to come.”

“As if I’d let you out of my sight after last night,” Philippa says, shifting to pin Michael to the bed while she kisses her relentlessly. 

“Philippa,” Michael protests breathlessly. “I’ll be fine. Kat will be there too – and we’ll be having breakfast in the public dining room.”

“Still not letting you out of my sight any time soon,” Philippa insists.

“Okay, okay.” Michael can’t say she actually minds. Last night had been scary, even though Lorca hadn’t done much to her – it was the invasion of her privacy that had freaked her out the most.

Fortunately he was now safely in police custody, and she and her mom had agreed to remain in town for a few days in case they were needed. 

They get dressed swiftly, pulling on jeans and tees, then make their way downstairs, hand in hand. 

Michael spots her mom and Kat seated at a dining table near one of the windows, and as she and Philippa thread their way through the tables to reach them, Michael takes in the tall black woman with her hair in a severely practical bun who’s seated with them, a younger black man beside her.

“Morning Mom, Kat,” Michael says nodding at them.

“Good morning Michael, Philippa.” Her mom turns towards the woman. “This is Tracy Pollard of _Discovery Music_ , and her assistant, Ronald Bryce.”

Michael shakes hands them both, and turns to Philippa. “This is my partner, Philippa Georgiou,” she tells Pollard.

She feels Philippa’s left hand press against the small of her back as the other woman offers to shake hands with the pair. The others resume their seats and Michael and Philippa sit at the short end of the table, Michael with her mom, and Kat beyond her, on her left and Philippa on her right.

She lets her mom lead the conversation, but listens with close attention to everything Pollard says as the other woman explains that she wants to sign them, initially, for a year, with the option for them to re-sign at the end of the year if it suits both parties. Pollard tells them she wants the Red Angels to record _Red Angel_ as their debut single, and a full album from which Michael and Gabrielle get to pick at least three other songs to release as singles. 

Kat then asks a number of business-related questions, and Pollard provides sales projection figures, and Michael can see Kat relaxing, her expression growing pleased. 

“This all looks very good,” she tells Gabrielle and Michael. “I’ll want to go over the precise details of the contract with my lawyer before you sign, but provided Amanda Grayson thinks everything’s okay, and provided you two are happy with the commitment that making the album will entail, I think you’d do well to accept.”

Gabrielle nods. “Very well, Ms Pollard. Michael and I will discuss your offer further with Katrina and Amanda, then we’ll be in touch.”

“Thank you, Ms Burnham.” She and her assistant get to their feet, as do Michael and the others, and there’s a flurry of handshaking all around.

“Can I just say,” Bryce says, when he’s shaking hands with Michael, “That you were magnificent last night. Especially _Red Angel_.”

“Thanks.” Michael ducks her head, still inclined to feel a bit embarrassed by that kind of praise.

The pair depart, and Michael sits back down, smiling at Philippa when the latter clasps her leg under the table.

“What do you want to do for the rest of the day?” asks Gabrielle as they finish their breakfasts.

“Work on my song,” Michael says promptly. “And get some more sleep.”

Her mom nods. “Kat and I thought we’d go for a drive in the country, take a picnic lunch.”

Michael grins. “Have a great time, both of you,” she says, and sees Kat blush.

They head off soon afterwards, and Michael turns to Philippa. Before she can speak, however, the older woman says, “I should get going too.”

Michael raises an eyebrow. “What happened to not letting me out of your sight?”

Philippa shrugs. “You won’t want me getting in your way while you’re working on your music.”

“You won’t be in the way,” Michael tells her firmly. “Unless you absolutely have to go, I’d much rather you stayed.”

Philippa looks doubtful, so she leans over and whispers in her ear, “Maybe if you stay I’ll write a song about you.”

The other woman shivers, then growls, “You fight dirty.”

Michael chuckles. “For what I want? Always.” She kisses Philippa more decorously than she’d like to, then says, “Coming?”

“Not yet, but I will be soon.”

That makes Michael laugh aloud, causing the handful of people still in the dining room to look curiously at her. “Shall we see if we can remedy that?”

“Let’s.” She tugs Michael from her seat, then almost drags her through the dining room and back upstairs to their room. She tumbles Michael onto their bed, then pounces, and she feels a bubble of pure joy filling her chest. She has a feeling the day will prove very satisfactory indeed.

_*** Transmission Ends ***_


End file.
